Wedge looked around the Aux Two hangar from the ladder of his X-wing. Sublight engines thrummed and shrieked in turn as pilots and ground crew conducted preflight tests. Fuel lines were being pulled back and rolled up. Astromechs whistled, with tones ranging from eager to spiteful. Support teams swarmed over ten of the twelve X-wings, preparing them for launch.
He slid down the ladder and caught Luke’s eye. Luke nodded and whistled sharply, the sound piercing through the din of a hangar in action. The Rogues responded, gathering around their commander. Wedge timed his arrival so the rest of the pilots beat him there by a few steps, closing the circle himself.
“This is a training exercise,” Luke said, his voice loud enough to carry to all the pilots but not much further. “Our X-wings are configured just for this. No proton torpedoes, limiters on the laser cannons, and R5 training astromechs.” He looked from pilot to pilot. “The astromechs have full command override capability and will take control of your fighter if your maneuver would carry you into a collision. They also have no hypernav capability.”
“Why the limitations?” Zev Senesca asked.
“Compromise,” Luke said dryly. “The last time Rogue X-wings were in space, one of our own tried to shoot up a friendly and escaped. You all ran simulations with the new wing pair doctrine yesterday; today, we’re going to do it in space. By accepting limited loadouts, the air wing commander dropped his objections to our live flight exercises. Questions?”
“We don’t have numbers yet,” Cesi Eirriss stated.
“Some of us do,” Puck said cheerfully.
Luke raised a hand to forestall further comment. “That wasn’t a question, but you’re right, we don’t have numbers yet. That’s because we’re trying a new doctrine and we’re not anywhere close to assigning permanent pairs yet. For this flight, we’ll be using last names as designation. Skywalker, Antilles, Eirriss, Neth, and so forth.”
“Who flies together?” Jade asked.
Luke looked over. “Captain?”
Wedge cleared his throat. “For this training exercise, Skywalker and I will be paired. Our normal protocol calls for command staff to be separated, but for this flight we’ll be flying together both as example and so we can break apart to observe and instruct as necessary. Like Commander Skywalker said, these aren’t permanent pairs. As for the rest of you,” he scanned the group, finding each pilot as he called their names, “Klivian and Neth. Celchu and Jade. Senesca and Naeco. Janson and Eirriss.”
“This is just a training exercise,” Luke repeated. “We’re launching, practicing basic maneuvers, and if things look good we’ll do some aggressor combat, two versus two.” He smiled. “I know all of you are missing real flight as much as I am.”
Damn straight, Wedge thought. I haven’t been back out into space since we left Yavin. Stars, I’ve missed it.
“Any more questions? Great. Mount up and prepare to launch. I’ll call pair order when we have clearance from Independence traffic control. Let’s go!”
The Rogues scattered to their X-wings. Wedge saw Janson say something to Eirriss, but over the growing cacophony of engines, he couldn’t make it out; Eirriss’s eye-roll was obvious, though. Wedge lingered long enough to have a moment to talk to Luke.
Wedge offered a smile. “It’ll be good to fly something other than a desk.”
Luke’s blue eyes sparkled. “Wedge, Wedge, you’re so good at flying the desk.”
“No one should be irreplaceable,” Wedge said dryly, “which means you need to learn it, too.”
“Maybe we should save the work for Janson and Naeco. It might inspire them to rein in their instincts,” Luke joked, then sobered. “Are you ready for this? First real flight with the new doctrine?”
Wedge nodded slowly. “It’s just a training flight, Luke. But it’s the first step toward something better.” He clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “Let’s get into space and show the newcomers that we both deserve our reputations.”
“Break port!” Luke called, albeit too slow; Wedge was already rolling out to the left, spoiling Tycho’s shot before the low-powered training lasers could connect. Got you now, Luke thought as he rolled in tandem with Wedge’s maneuver, anticipating Tycho’s own maneuver to latch back onto Wedge’s tail.
The training astromech socketed behind him where Artoo should have been warbled a warning. Luke spared a glance at his rear scope and the corner of his lips turned upward. Mara was sliding in behind him, going for the kill. The four of them were strung into a line that Wedge was even now dragging into a spiral: Wedge at the front, Tycho latched on his tail, Luke aiming at Tycho, and now Mara at the back trying to get a solid lock on Luke.
“Pincer!” Luke called, pulling back hard on the stick and swinging it back to the right. Wedge continued his port spiral, Luke now turning to starboard. Luke pulled back harder, cheating the turn, shedding speed but tightening the loop too hard for Mara to get a clean shot. And then, as he had intended, Wedge’s X-wing was two hundred meters out in front of his, facing him, leveling out of his turn. Luke squeezed, the laser cannons firing anemically toward his wingman; Wedge was firing as well, his own blasts slipping just past Luke in turn.
Tycho ran into Luke’s lasers and his shields lit up brightly. On targeting display, his X-wing changed to a kill marker, Tycho’s astromech having registered the fire as lethal damage. He glanced back and was rewarded with his own rear shields taking a hit before Mara broke off, taking hits from Wedge in return. Luke pulled back on the stick, his fighter’s nose coming up and over as he reversed to slide into position off Wedge’s wing.
Mara had her X-wing dancing, but deprived of her wingman and fully on the defensive against Wedge Antilles, the outcome wasn’t in doubt. She evaded for an extra handful of seconds before the glancing hits finally added up enough for her astromech to flag her as dead.
“You make that look easy,” Wes commented, his voice crackling over the comm.
“Janson, if you spent half the time training that you spend preening in front of a mirror, you’d be that good, too,” Cesi deadpanned.
“End of exercise,” Wedge said, all professional. “We have enough fuel for a few more engagements. Klivian and Neth, you’re up next. Senesca and Naeco, you’re aggressor. Pull out to four kilometers and prepare to engage.”
Acknowledgements echoed, and Luke watched as the pairs of X-wings maneuvered away to create enough distance. It’s working, he thought, as he mentally reviewed the paired engagements in his head. Though we need to rotate pairings and see who works together well. This is a really solid foundation.
Luke had known from the familiarization sims that Neth tended toward uncertainty in the cockpit. Some of it was honestly earned; she was still learning the timing and distance estimate differences between the Headhunter she’d trained on and a T-65B, but with veteran Hobbie as her wingman, she’d done well, anchoring off his combat instincts to guide her own. Puck was chaos in person but only a bit too aggressive in the cockpit; pairing him with Zev took a bit of edge off Puck’s flying but also pushed Zev into more aggressive flying than the older man would normally default to, making them both the better for it. Wes’s jokes and sloppy flying turned lethally efficient when hard light started flying, and it forced Cesi to focus to keep up with him, pushing her harder than she’d push herself.
Tycho and Mara were eerily smooth together, a pairing that looked machine-like in precision and had proven to be the best of the eight Rogues running through paired exercises. In private comms, Wedge had told him that they were the best example of the new doctrine, but to Luke it felt wrong – brittle in some way he couldn’t define. I’ll figure out why it looks wrong later, he told himself. This is just the first exercise.
The four Rogues had spread themselves out and were circling at four kilometers, waiting for Wedge to call the beginning of the engagement, when Luke’s comm board lit up with a signal from the Independence, twenty kilometers away.
“…Cronau radiation event,” a distant officer said tightly. “Signals emerging from hyperspace.”
“Hold exercise!” Luke snapped.
“It’s an Imperial Star Destroyer and support ships!” the comm officer called, an edge of panic in his voice. “Star Destroyer reverting from hyperspace on our vector! All ships, battle stations!”
“Wedge, did you hear that?” Luke asked tightly, turning the nose of his X-wing toward the distant Independence.
“I heard it. Rogues, form up by pairs.” Wedge was already sliding into the wingman position off Luke’s starboard wing.
Distant contacts blizzarded onto Luke’s tactical display. “Artoo, give me…” he paused for a moment, shook his head. “Arfive, give me a breakdown of the Imperial task force.”
The training R5 whistled, and a listing of ship classes scrolled over the display. Luke bit back annoyance, assembling the tactical picture in his head. Artoo would know exactly how I wanted to see this.
The biggest ship of the task force was an Imperial II-class Star Destroyer, designation unknown, and it had reverted from hyperspace precisely on the Independence‘s vector. Had it come in virtually any other way, the Independence could have executed a short hyperspace leap of a few lightyears on its current heading to escape, gather its forces, and change vectors for its next jump with relative impunity; but the Star Destroyer’s arrival had been precisely calculated to force them to re-vector and thus require calculating an entirely new jump.
They knew exactly where we were.
Smaller Imperial ships also were listed on the readout: a pair of Imperial Nebulon-B class frigates, heavily armed and armored and each carrying a squadron of TIEs; six Raider corvettes, likely with a three-fighter element of TIE fighters in their small internal hangar; an Arquitens-class light cruiser, fast and maneuverable but lightly armed; and worse yet, a pair of boxy Ton Falk-class carriers, each capable of carrying a full wing of TIE fighters.
The Independence wasn’t alone, of course; its own task force boasted a trio of Corellian CR90 corvettes, one of which was the battered Bright Wake that Luke and Mara had escorted back from Ralltiir; a pair of Sphyrna corvettes; two Rebel-refit Nebulon-B frigates, vessels that traded the armor and fighter complement of the Imperial originals for speed, maneuverability, and endurance, though one of the Rebel frigates was outfitted for medical support, not war; and finally, a single Quasar Fire-class light carrier, which could carry half the fighters of a single Ton Falk.
Luke ran the math in his head, and the answer was grim. The Independence could outfight any Star Destroyer in the Imperial navy, but the sheer number of TIEs the Imperial task force had brought to bear was staggering – over twenty squadrons’ worth, more than a single Star Destroyer task force could usually field. If Colonel S’man can get every single fighter in the air, we’re still looking at three-to-one odds at best.
And Rogue Squadron isn’t armed for this fight, he concluded, his heart sinking. With no torpedoes, we don’t have the punch to fight anything heavier than TIEs. And with these training droids, we can’t jump to hyperspace unless someone feeds us nav data or we dock with the Independence.
“Arfive,” he called, “disable the limiters. Full power to the guns. Override code Skywalker-One-Nine. Broadcast override to the squadron.”
The systems display blinked, the laser cannon icon changing from yellow to green.
“Luke, we’re not ready for this fight,” Wedge said tightly.
“I agree, but it came to us. We have to fight our way out.” Luke toggled his broadcast over to the Independence channel. “Independence control, this is Rogue Leader. I’ve got five X-wing elements, limited loadout, no long-range nav. Don’t leave us behind when you jump. Where do you need us?”
“Rogue Leader, I’m handing you over to fighter tactical,” the comms officer said. “We’re scrambling alert fighters, but it’ll take two or three minutes to get everyone else into space.”
Luke grimaced, but it was hardly unexpected. If S’man didn’t have standing orders to keep all fighters fueled and armed, it’d be worse, he told himself as he switched back to broadcast to the squadron. “Alright, Rogues, listen up. We don’t have the firepower to go after anything big, so we’re going to screen the Independence. No matter what happens, stay with your wingman. Call for help when you need it.” The X-wings were accelerating now, and distantly Luke could make out the flashes of distant turbolaser blasts exchanged between the Independence and the Star Destroyer. “Colonel S’man is scrambling his people. We keep the TIEs away, we don’t chase, and we support each other.” He considered for a moment. “Until we’re vectored somewhere else, we’ll protect the Independence in zones. Celchu and Jade cover the bow, Eirriss and Janson cover port, Klivian and Neth cover starboard, Senesca and Naeco cover the engines.”
Distantly, the Independence was vectoring to starboard. The hardest attacks would likely come against the cruiser’s bow and port side. “Wedge and I will stay dorsal and support wherever the TIEs come in thickest.” There were a hundred things he wanted to say. None of them would help. “May the Force be with us,” he said grimly.
Ahead, the task force’s alert fighters were already engaging the attacking TIEs. Imperial squadrons were bleeding into space from the Ton Falks and the Star Destroyer. Buy time, Luke told himself. Keep your people alive and buy time.
The pair doctrine stood up well for the first ninety seconds of the engagement.
Wedge had understood Luke’s tactical choices immediately. The strongest pairs from the training skirmishes – Celchu and Jade, Eirriss and Janson – were assigned to the zones of the Independence likely to come under the heaviest attack. Hobbie and Neth were skirmishing with stray TIEs, but nothing like the concentrated hammer of TIEs hitting the bow and port, both exposed to the Star Destroyer task force’s vector. Zev and Puck were fighting a steady-but-small flow of TIEs attempting to cripple the cruiser’s engines. Luke had kept the two of them dancing back and forth between the bow and starboard zones, supporting whichever pair was suffering more focused fire.
The comms stayed alive with chatter: Celchu, clipped and precise and trained; Jade, terse and controlled; Janson, his usual jolly demeanor replaced by ice and fury; Eirriss, brutal and fearless. Hobbie’s tones were unchanged, Neth was clearly nervous but keeping it under control, Senesca sounding nearly bored, and Naeco stressed in a way Wedge hadn’t expected. He didn’t have time to worry about it, though, because the Imperial onslaught was relentless. Luke kept his comms restrained, calling warnings when he saw danger and orders when an element drifted out of position, but he barely spoke at all to his own wingman, apparently unconcerned with Wedge’s ability to keep up.
TIEs attacked in waves, three-ship elements – three, six, a dozen at a time. Rogue pairs met them, forced them apart, claimed kills, denied them momentum. The Independence‘s alert fighters – three-ship elements of X-wings, A-wings, and old Z-95 Headhunters – fought ferociously, throwing themselves into the path of TIE units to force them to vector away, scoring few kills but taking no losses, either.
Then, just over a minute and a half of combat time later, the Independence and the task force’s carrier, the Battle Dog, began launching more fighters. A-wing interceptors rocketed into space and were quickly joined by new flight elements of X-wings, turning the odds the Rogues faced from impossible to merely horrific. The pressure eased as the waves of TIEs that had been crashing through and over the defending Rebels suddenly had twice as many enemies to fight. The comms crackled with new voices: cries of triumph, screams of loss, curt orders.
For all his planning, Wedge hadn’t reckoned on the sheer amount of comm traffic during an engagement involving more than Rogue Squadron.
“…ter vectoring toward…” Luke’s comm was clear for just a moment.
Then a sea of voices washed him out.
“…break port and you should…”
“…celerate to full throttle!”
“…all over me, give me cov…”
“…break, break, break!”
“…take the wingman, I’m on…”
Wedge bit back a curse. Comm discipline. We need a private channel for the squadron, and we need to filter our comms. The new doctrine requires more coordination, at least right now. But I can’t solve that now.
And then a voice, barely familiar but strained: “Celchu, Skywalker. I’m hit. Lower port engine is offline.”
Luke’s X-wing immediately rolled and cut down, diving from their position over the Independence‘s dorsal hull. Wedge accelerated, staying with him, barely.
“Celchu, withdraw to the Independence hangar,” Luke ordered. “Right now. Land in the main bay. They have emergency crews ready.” His X-wing was already firing at a throng of TIEs pursuing Celchu and Jade’s fighters; one TIE erupted in a burst of fire and light. Wedge opened up a heartbeat later, another TIE dissolving under his focused fire.
“Jade…ere…you want me?” Mara’s voice came next as the TIE formation lost cohesion, scattering out and letting Tycho’s crippled X-wing go.
“Stay…” Luke managed before his voice disappeared into the din of other pilots calling success and failure and maneuvers.
Luke and Wedge flashed through the engagement, guns firing continuously. Wedge glanced back and saw Tycho’s fighter, smoke and flame pouring from the damaged engine, vanish into the Independence‘s primary hangar. He’s safe at least. Or will be, as soon as the Independence jumps out.
Y-wing fighter-bombers finally emerged from the Independence, adding even more voices to the channel. “…pairing for attack run on…”
Wedge shook his head, following Luke in a climb back to their high position, looking for the next trouble spot. Janson and Eirriss were engaged and, to Wedge’s critical eye, separated wider than he’d like, but the Battle Dog‘s Headhunter squadron was in the midst of the furball with them, providing enough concentrated firepower to keep the two Rogues from being overwhelmed.
“All fighters,” Colonel S’man’s voice boomed over the comm, “Independence has revectored and is calculating jump. We need two minutes. If you’re damaged, fall back to a carrier. If you’re hyperspace-capable, prepare for nav data.”
Two minutes. We can do two minutes. “All pairs, report in,” Luke called, but the responses were almost impossible to hear in the mix of chatter from the air wing.
“…need help…” slipped into Wedge’s ear, and his heart stopped.
Pairs. Tycho’s aboard the Independence. Which means Mara is alone. Instantly, he saw his own blind spot, Luke’s blind spot: the new organization, the new strategy was two-ship elements. Wingpairs. Tycho had taken crippling damage, been ordered to withdraw, which was the only reasonable course of action.
But Luke and Wedge were both thinking in three-ship elements. Tycho’s withdrawal should have been a red flag, an immediate warning to pull Mara back, have her join up with another element, but neither one of the squadron’s leaders had registered a single fighter’s loss as leaving a pilot isolated, because in a three-ship element, she wouldn’t have been. Instead, Luke had ordered her to maintain position, unsupported, and neither he nor Wedge had registered the danger.
“Hang on, Mara,” Luke was already saying, voice tight, having apparently run the same calculations and come to the same conclusion. “We’re coming.” His X-wing was heeling over and accelerating, throttle wide open, and Wedge was a quarter-second behind.
Wedge stared at his scope for a moment. Mara’s X-wing had been forced out of position, at least one Imperial commander having seen the vulnerability and pounced. “Stay alive,” he muttered. “Stay alive.“